


May Light Shine Long and Steady

by clarityhiding



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - No Capes, JayTimBINGO2019, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-06-30 14:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Tim's life is in a downward spiral and he's barely staying afloat, let alone in his classes. With nothing left to lose, he figures it can't hurt to ask for a little divine help. Instead, he ends up with an overly helpful advisor of sorts.





	May Light Shine Long and Steady

**Author's Note:**

> For week one of JayTim Month(ish) 2019: Mythology! This is probably the only one of my fills that came even close to getting Bingo and I think I'm still missing three squares. Oh wellllll~ Thanks to chibi_nightowl and Nykyrianne for betaing, and spazzterror for being so kind as to check it over and let me know it definitely made some semblance of sense.

Tim came across it halfway through his first semester, tucked into the little pocket wedged between the engineering and English buildings, right on the edge of the divide between humanities and sciences. He's been back a few times since, usually right before finals when he feels a little extra help couldn't hurt, though sometimes he'll visit in the middle of term when he's having a lot of trouble with a paper.

Near the end of term, he'll sometimes run into another student leaving, or arrive and find the space already occupied. Through the same unspoken agreement that kept generations of students from ever revealing the secret to the staff, he always hangs far enough back that he can't hear or see anything that's done.

He doesn't mean to stop by today—he stayed too late in the photo lab, finishing some prints while he waited for a roll to fix, and the day has turned dark and wet in the interim. Or, well. Closer to night, now, since it's well past six in the evening.

Suffice to say, he really doesn't have the time for this, not if he wants to catch the next bus and avoid a long wait in the rain. At the same time, he hasn't had a chance all term, and between everything—the work, the stress, the incompletes from last year still looming behind him, hounding him with how he has yet to take care of them—he feels like he could really use a little help.

Besides, the rain means he's probably not the only one who needs some help.

Tim squeezes between the buildings, already rummaging around in his messenger bag for a lighter, pen, and paper as he ducks into the sheltered space there. It looks the same as it always does—a stone bench, a small sheltered pedestal with a little lamp on its top, a wooden ballot box tucked on a shelf down below. Etched into the clamshell back of the covering are the weathered words that greeted him back in freshman year.

_When you need help, all you have to do is ask._

The lamp's out—big surprise there, especially since whoever was here last left it close to the outer edge instead of pushing it to the back. A stupid mistake, probably the work of some over-anxious first year. That far out, it's likely to have a lot worse happen than have its flame go out—there are plenty of plants in this little secret space, and though petitioners try to keep it clear, sometimes dead and dried out bracken lingers when the term gets really busy. Tim's never heard of a fire accidentally starting, but there's a first time for everything.

He checks the lamp, pours off the water that's collected atop the oil, then checks the oil level like he always does. He has yet to find it low, but there's a first time for everything, and he'd hate for someone to leave it too low for the next person to have a chance of lighting it. Satisfied, he tucks it back into its little alcove, carefully setting it alight once more.

Next, he's supposed to write out his petition and slip it into the box—thus the need for pen and paper—but when he sits down on the bench to do so, he can't think of what to ask. He stares down at the paper, making sure to shield it from the drips that have found their way in, and his mind is blank. There are too many problems, too many things that have spiraled out of control for him to point to any one thing and name it as the place most in need of aid.

Tim's about to tuck everything back in his bag and leave, when the inscription catches his eye. _'…all you have to do is ask.'_ Well, asking doesn't cost anything, right? Flattening out the paper, he scrawls one word, underlines it twice, and quickly tears the page from his notebook, slipping it into the box before he can second-guess his action. He doesn't know who empties the box—someone must, since it's never full—but they're in for a treat next time they do.

He's pretty sure most people don't just write _' HELP'_ as big as they can across an entire sheet of paper.

* * *

As Tim suspected, he dawdled too long at the lamp, and the taillights of his bus are already disappearing off into the gloom when he finally makes it to the campus stop. Normally not an issue, but the earlier drips have turned into a downpour and he's not exactly keen on waiting out in the open and getting soaked for the next 45 minutes. It's too far to trek back to the lab, so instead he ducks into the nearest building, crossing his fingers that it won't be a problem.

The inside smells like dust and academia, so just like every other building on campus that's more than twenty years old. This particular structure is sending out very strong 1950s vibes, between the wood-framed glass display cases and the actual stone tile in the corridors. He didn't take the time to read the sign out front before coming in, so it could honestly be anything—right now, it's seriously reminding him of the geology building, but that's two quads over, so this must be something different.

Glancing around, he starts to make his way to the first display case, figuring there might be some clue to where he is, when a voice stops him. "Can I help you? You're looking a little lost."

Tim nearly trips over his feet, he's so startled, and he has to grab a door knob to keep himself from falling flat on his face. Turning around, he's surprised to see not a stodgy academic like he expected, but rather a young man who probably isn't all that much older than he is—if there's any age difference at all. He's twenty, now—he really needs to shake off the old childhood tendency of classifying anyone taller than him as "older."

"Uh, no. I was just… I missed my bus?" He gestures out the double doors, through which the lonely sign of the bus stop can be seen standing dejectedly in the downpour. "The lights were still on and the door was unlocked, so I figured it'd be fine for me to wait here until it got close to time for the next one to show?"

The man squints out through the doors and grimaces. Hopefully at the rain and not at Tim's pathetic excuse for being here. "Yikes, that's a nightmare out there. Guess I can't exactly get on your case for leaving puddles on the floor now."

"Huh?" Glancing down, Tim groans—he hadn't even noticed the small stream of water running off him until now. That's probably a serious slipping hazard, especially with the slick stone of the floor. "Point me in the direction of the nearest restroom and I'll get some paper towels to sop it up."

"Naw, don't worry about it—I'm the only one here right now, and it's not so bad. It'll probably dry by morning. But, hey—you can't wait out here in the hall until your bus comes. You'll get sick. Come on in, I've got an actual towel you can use and the office is heated." The guy steps back, holding the door to a room open.

It's definitely more than Tim had hoped to find when he ducked inside, so he's more than grateful to take the guy up on the offer, though he winces slightly when he steps inside and his feet meet carpet. "Shit, I'm going to ruin your carpet."

"Seriously, don't worry about it. It's just water and this old thing is overdue for a wash anyway. If it bothers you that much, you can leave your shoes by the door. You can call me Jason, by the way."

He responds with somewhat-terse, "Tim." He isn't entirely sure his wet socks are that much of an improvement, but he takes the time to toe off his sopping sneakers before going any further. Of course, when he does try to go further, his messenger bag is pulled from where he's been clutching it to his chest and he's given a fluffy mass in its place. "Oh. Thanks," he says, shaking it out to see it's the aforementioned towel.

"No problem. You can hang your jacket on one of the hooks by the fire, if you want. You might want to move your shoes a bit closer also—I'd've suggested it from the start if I'd realized how wet they are."

" _Fire_?" He thought he was hearing things, but when he follows Jason's hand to the other side of the room, he see a little brick fireplace, a cozy fire cheerfully snapping away behind the grill. "What the—?"

"One of the advantages to having an office in one of the older buildings that _wasn't_ built with science in mind," Jason says, looking very pleased with himself as he hangs Tim's bag on one of the hooks that are arranged across the small mantel.

"Oh, that can't—" Tossing the towel on an armchair, Tim bounces forward, moving his bag away from the heat. "Sorry. I appreciate the gesture, but I've got stuff in here that can't take extreme heats."

"I'd think you want your electronics dry sooner rather than later, and since I haven't got a bag of rice handy…"

"No, it's not—I mean, sure, yeah. But I've also got photography stuff, and film and fire is a _really_ bad combination," Tim explains, kneeling on the floor so he can quickly take out the items in question—namely his camera and film—before handing the bag back. When he glances up, Jason is giving him a very intensive look, one that makes Tim squirm and feel more than a little uncomfortable. "Something the matter?"

Jason blinks and shakes himself, then rehangs the bag. "You study photography?"

"Kinda, yeah. I mean, it'd be my minor, but the department doesn't really allow for minors and I skipped some of the classes required for it to be a second major. I'm sorry, I don't—what department is this again? I missed the sign, I was in such a hurry to get inside." He thought there might be some clues inside the room, but even beyond the fireplace, it's not like any campus office he's seen before. There are solid wood bookcases lining both walls and jam-packed with books of all shapes, sizes, and, if the titles are anything to go by, subjects. A desk is tucked into the corner, and knickknacks are arranged across the tops of the bookcases, but aside from a sleek laptop half-hidden under scattered papers on the desk, he weirdly can't see any sort of technology anywhere, and the pictures that hang above the windows don't seem specific to any one time period.

"Campus construction means we're actually playing host to a variety of departments at the moment, and I tend towards cross-discipline myself. You'd do better asking what department we _aren't_ right now," Jason says.

Tim isn't entirely sure how to interpret that, so he just nods for now. "I read something once that said a campus without construction is a dead campus, so I guess we should be grateful?" he suggests as he hangs up his jacket and starts putting the towel to good use. Already, just his close proximity to the fire is doing wonders for drying him off and thawing him out.

Jason laughs, beaming up at him. "That's a good point! And a pretty accurate one, in my experience. So if not photography, what _are_ you studying?"

"Computer programming and creative writing. I'd love to develop video games, but something tells me I'm probably just going to end up being a glorified IT guy when I graduate. _If_ I graduate." 

"There's some question to that?"

"I get sick pretty easily, and I've missed enough classes that I've had to take some incompletes," he explains. The Office for Students with Disabilities isn't nearly as sympathetic to immunocompromised students when they don't have some really great sob story to back them up. "The only reason I haven't lost my scholarship is that the Wayne Foundation is a bit more accommodating than the administration."

"Yikes. Sounds like you're struggling," Jason says, leaning forward and frowning in the firelight.

"It's not so bad. Just… I was the idiot who thought he could handle a double major and an unofficial minor while immunocompromised. My counselor thinks I need to drop something and focus all my attention on just one topic, but I really… I don't want to give up on my dreams, y'know?" He doesn't know why he's saying all this, why he's baring his heart to a total stranger, no matter how dreamy that stranger's eyes may be, but it's somehow reassuring to do so. To finally get all his worries off his chest. It's not like he can tell Dinah without worrying her even more, and he sort of lost track of all his friends considering how far he's fallen down the rabbit hole of schoolwork.

"No, that totally makes sense. Dreams are important, they're part of what separates man from beast. Sentience from simple sapience," Jason says. "If you like, I could have a word with your counselor? Try and get them to understand your situation better. Sometimes it takes an advocate to get you the help you need, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"You would…? Uh, I mean. Thanks for the offer, but you really don't have to. I'm not sure having some TA from another department is going to be all that beneficial," Tim insists, fighting down the flush he can feel rising in his cheeks from the overly warm room.

"First of all, one of my many hats happens to be for the English department, which creative writing just so happens to fall under. Secondly, I'll have you know I'm an adjunct professor, not a TA. I just happen to look a little young for my age."

He does have a point about the English department and considering Tim already has a hard time telling some of his profs from his classmates, his comment about his age is likely true as well. "That's… That could work. Thanks, Jason."

They end up spending the next forty minutes discussing possible ways to turn the lingering incompletes into completes and hashing out possible senior projects, since that's something that's right around the corner for Tim as well. It's more than a little gratifying to finally have someone who truly _listens_ to him when he talks about his passions, making encouraging noises whenever he pauses for breath instead of just fussing about how there are other people who have appointments today, please hurry up and get to the point.

Hardly any time at all seems to have passed when Jason is rising to his feet, passing Tim back his bag and coat. "You better pack up and get your butt out there, unless you want to miss _another_ bus," he advises. "For one thing, I'm pretty certain it's the last one of the day."

Tim yelps and leaps up, quickly pulling on his coat and putting his photography things back in his bag. He's sitting down on the carpet to tug on his shoes when something drops into his lap. An umbrella. "Oh, I couldn't—"

"Hey, which one of us here can't risk catching a bug? You can always bring it back some other time," Jason says, waving a hand.

"But what'll you use?" The rain has only gotten harder while Tim's been inside, and it would hardly be decent of him to take the only protection of a man who's been nothing but kind.

"I'm a bit of a pack rat, sometimes. I'm sure I've got something around here that will get the job done. Now, go! You're going to miss that bus!"

"R-right! Thanks!" Looping his scarf back around his neck, he hops to his feet and hurries out the door, opening the umbrella as he barges down the hall and out of the building.

The bus is just pulling up as he steps outside, and he doesn't even have to wait to climb onboard. After he's paid his fare and settled into a seat, he glances outside at the building. It's too dark and the rain is too fierce for him to read the name on the side, but he thinks he sees a figure standing in the one lit window, waving through the gloom. Though it's doubtful anything can be seen through the bus's water-streaked plexiglass windows, Tim grins and waves back.

After nearly three years of trial and tribulation, college is finally starting to look up.

* * *

The problem, of course, is that Jason is unfairly hot. Like, Greek-god level unfairly hot, to the point that Tim is surprised he remembered how to make words come out of his mouth in anything resembling actual sense. And, as a professor, completely, totally off-limits. Off-limits and now a regular fixture in Tim's life because he just can't seem to tear himself away, and anyway why would he want to, when Jason always knows exactly who to contact, what to say in order to work the twisted hell-maze that's the university administration.

"You don't have to answer this, but I was kind of wondering about the whole immunocompromised thing?" Jason (because Tim can't _not_ think of him as Jason now, will probably never be able to think of him as 'Professor Todd' no matter how much he should really get in the habit of doing so) says a few days later.

Tim's stopped by to hash out some more details on his senior project, now that this is somehow an actual thing that he's doing. "There was… an accident when I was younger, and they had to take out my spleen? Like, I get that's not common practice now with a ruptured spleen, but it was then. So I get sick more easily than some people, and I have to be careful about my stress levels. Mostly, I'm fine, but sometimes I'm not."

"Fair. You went to the Office for Students with Disabilities with that, right? You know they're required to make exceptions and special arrangements for things like learning disabilities or medical issues."

"Oh, well. People don't really think 'immunocompromised' is a thing if you don't have AIDS or cancer? If you have hair and don't look like death warmed over, they kind of block you until you come back with a lot of doctor's notes and stuff." He shrugs, tries to act like it's nothing. It's not—it's _really_ not, but he hates getting into all the details, and sometimes it's just easier to keep it simple so no one presses.

Jason frowns. "Wow, seriously? What a bunch of dicks. I mean, yeah, you're technically supposed to have to 'prove' your disability to them with credentials and stuff, but they're in no place to decide who counts as disabled or not."

"Well, I mean. It's. I don't want to make a big fuss about it? There are a lot of people who have it way worse than me, and it sort of feels like cheating when I wouldn't've even had a problem in the first place if I'd been more careful, gotten more rest, watched my nutrition intake," Tim explains, hunching his shoulders. He's seen some of the students that come into the OSD, they all are way worse off than him.

"Wow, no. Whoever told you that needs to just fucking shut up because this isn't a competition," Jason snaps.

"No one told me, I just—"

"That shutting up includes yourself. Everyone needs help sometimes, Tim. Some people need a little more than others, and there's absolutely _nothing_ wrong with that. Nothing wrong with asking for it, nothing wrong with receiving it. Needing help is just the human way."

"Oh." Tim ducks his head, trying to fight down the blush he knows is building up, seeing Jason all righteously indignant on his behalf. "You sound like my therapist. She tells me stuff like that all the time."

"Clearly, because you keep failing to really comprehend it the first time. Glad to hear someone's got your back."

"Yeah," Tim says. "Dinah's really great."

* * *

With Jason's help, he manages to get back on track with his degrees. It's amazing how many resources are available to him at the university once there's someone on his side who not only knows the system in and out but is also willing to fight for him tooth and nail. 

"So, like. Is this seriously all you do at this school? Or do you teach also?" Tim asks one day after a very productive afternoon. Now that flu season is upon them, he's taken to doing all his studying between classes in Jason's office, since it means he doesn't have to wear a mask like he would in the library or one of the campus study lounges. As long as Jason doesn't have an appointment with another student, he never bats an eye at the extra company, just smiles and points him in the direction of the armchair that Tim is already starting to think of as 'his.'

"Oh, I teach upper-level seminars, generally. If you're interested in taking one, I have to recommend you don't, since it'd be difficult for me to remain completely objective of you as a student. You're welcome to audit sometime, though," Jason says, not glancing up from the laptop he's clacking away on.

He honestly just asked because he's still not entirely sure of what Jason's position actually _is_ beyond being incredibly helpful and awesome across the board. "Well. Could be interesting, I guess? You're part of the English department, right?" Tim is more interested in story structure and narrative development than picking apart the works of pompous dead white dudes, but he can easily see the appeal of listening to Jason expound on some topic he feels strongly about.

"Among other things. Right now I'm doing an honors seminar on the Hero Saga in Folkloric Oral Traditions, which is a really fancy way of saying that it focuses on stories about average people making big differences through pure force of will."

"That… actually sounds perfect," Tim admits, because it's exactly the kind of thing that got him interested in storytelling in the first place, back when he still had the time to oversee Warlocks & Warriors games with his friends. As it is, his senior project involves him planning and programming a visual novel that follows how one regular person can make a big difference just by taking an interest in a problem. "When does it meet?"

Jason smiles, snagging a bag from a nearby coat rack and tucking the laptop he's been using inside. "I'm actually about to head out for that now. Want to grab your mask and join me?"

They actually end up running a little late, since Tim has so much junk to put back into his messenger bag, but it's definitely worth it. Jason is just as passionate as he suspected he might be, and Tim comes out of the room with a whole list of new possibilities for his project, not to mention various reference books suggested to him by some of the students.

* * *

"I know I've been patient, but is there any chance of my getting to meet this new boyfriend of yours?" Dinah asks, halfway through November. It's not one of their scheduled appointment days, but her office is closer to campus than Tim's seedy apartment so he sometimes takes naps there in the middle of the day. Naps that turn into shared meals that turn into the two of them just hanging out together, in between her sessions. Of course, the problem with using your cousin as your therapist is that you never know when she's being a sympathetic relative and when she's psychoanalyzing you.

The question is one that so honestly confuses Tim that it takes him a few minutes to actually understand what's being asked. "I. Huh?" he says, unfolding himself in his seat and turning to look at her. "But I'm not dating anyone?" Between the coursework he already has, the make-up work he's slowly been slogging through so he can get credit for his incompletes, and the work he's been doing on his senior project, he hasn't had _time_ to even think about dating in months.

"I phrased that wrong. When do I get to met your _friend_ , who is a _boy_? Man. Your male friend?" She smiles a him, a teasing one that makes her eyes light up and dance. "The one you're always running off to campus to meet?"

"First of all, I'm an adult, you neither need nor get to meet all my friends. Secondly, do you mean _Jason_? Because he's not—he's a _professor_ , oh my _god_." Wow. He is _so_ glad he has not actually tried to meet up with Jason off-campus because knowing his luck, Dinah is sure to have 'accidentally' stumbled across that and that would have been, just. So not good.

"Really? Because considering the way you talk about him, he sounds like much more than a professor." She's frowning now, reaching for her phone. "It's highly inappropriate for a school official to be so familiar with one of the students. I should—"

"Dinah, it's fine! He's just—he's a really good advisor! He talked the school into letting me get credit for all those incompletes I had to take last year before the credits expired, and now he's helping me with my senior project!" Jason also, impossibly, figured out who Tim had to talk to at the College of Fine Arts so they'll let him do a minor in Photography, but it's probably not the best idea to bring that up now.

"So it's just coincidence that your cheeks turn pink every time you talk about him and you do that cute flustered thing I haven't seen since you and Zoanne—"

"Please stop talking," Tim pleads, pulling up his legs and hiding his face against them. "Please. I beg you."

"Sweetheart, I'm just worried about you," she says, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. "It's what family does, believe it or not."

Peeking out, he smiles. "Yeah, I know. And, okay, maybe I think he's… attractive. But honestly, there's absolutely no way that Jason has anything other than a strictly professional interest in me, I swear."

"Good. Remember, just because you're interested in him doesn't erase the power imbalance between you both. And I don't care if you're an adult capable of making your own decisions, if I catch one _hint_ of him behaving inappropriately, that's it."

"Yeah, _Mom_. I know."

* * *

"Holiday this weekend. Any big plans?" Jason asks, glancing at Tim over his glasses.

"Ah, no. Not really. Visit my parents," he says, because that sounds safe and normal. He likes normal, it's part of why he likes Jason, likes to be here instead of elsewhere, among people who know too much, act uncomfortable and awkward when he walks into the room. Part of the reason why he turned down Dinah when she offered to include him in her own holiday plans.

"That a good thing? Bad thing? Sorry, never can tell with parents."

"It's a family thing." He can't think of how else to describe it without saying more than he really wants to. "I love them, but they're… kinda stuck in the past. It can be awkward."

"Fair," Jason says, nodding. "Well, good luck with that awkwardness."

"Thanks. Happy Thanksgiving."

"You too."

* * *

Tim brings his mother roses because they're safe and he can never remember her favorite no matter how hard he tries. Dana gets multi-color daisies, because her favorites he _can_ remember, and he owes her that much. His dad gets nothing, because there's absolutely nothing left for him to give his father.

They don't say anything, but then they never do. Not anymore.

He tells them about school, what his plans are for his senior project. Lets them know he's doing well, reassures them that he's taking care of himself and has the satisfaction of knowing that it's mostly the truth for once. Tentatively, he tells them about Jason. It's… He's not sure what they would think of him, if they ever had the chance to meet.

"He's just a friend," he says, and even he knows it's a lie. Because to Jason he's a student, and Jason is so much more than an advisor to Tim. But he never really got as far as telling his parents he's bi, and it's definitely too late to do that now.

"I'm doing better," he says, because he tries to avoid lying when he can. "Health-wise and school-wise. It's… Everything's a bit better, this year. Which, heh. About time, right?" It's not funny, but he tries to force a laugh anyway. It falls flat, which is to be expected, really.

"Anyway. Happy Thanksgiving, hope you like the flowers. I'll stop by again next month, maybe bring one of those electric candles? That could be fun." He probably won't bother. The damp could seep in and ruin it, leave batteries leaking all over, a big old mess.

Tugging his coat closer, Tim trudges down the hill to the gates at the cemetery entrance.

* * *

Tim has a few minutes to spare between classes so he figures he'll slip in and out, check to make sure the lamp is lit. He really hasn't been by in nearly a year and a half, so busy with classes and his senior project—somehow, with Jason's easy presence to help guide him, he hasn't felt the need to seek any outside help. Still, not everyone is as lucky as him, and this is the lull period of the term, when the initial panic has settled but the first papers have yet to be assigned. Prime time for the little garden to get a bit neglected before the panic of academic life sets in.

It's just as he's rounding the corner that he notices there's already someone there. He should turn around and wait until the other person is finished, but something about that large, solid back stops him. He _knows_ that back. And… those aren't the movements of someone _adding_ to the box—

"You?" is out of Tim's mouth before he can stop himself. " _You're_ the one who empties it?"

"Tim? How did you—"

"I can't believe you empty it! This is—you don't _read_ them, do you? Oh hell, of course you do. How fucking creepy can you get? This is just beyond belief!" There are so many feelings welling up right now—so many emotions, a lot of them conflicting. The strongest of all is _betrayal_. Betrayal that someone he trusted so completely, so implicitly could be capable of a—a _charade_ like this. An ugly, awful hoax. All these students feeling lost and finding just a little bit of reassurance by pouring out their hearts and problems to an anonymous someone who will never, ever judge them.

An anonymous someone who just happens to be some kind of messed up guidance counselor working for the university in an entirely unorthodox way.

"Calm down, it's really not what it looks like, I swear," Jason says, setting the box down and approaching him slowly, hands raised like Tim is some kind of wild animal.

"Fuck you, _Professor_ ," Tim snaps. He turns on his heel and _runs_ before he gives in and listens to whatever inadequate excuse Jason is planning to give.

* * *

Normally, Tim would sink into a funk after such a horrible breach of trust. It's far from the first time he's suffered heartbreak—and he hates that that's what it is, but he also knows better than to lie to himself about this—and he doubts it will be the last. In the past, he's reacted by cutting himself off from the rest of the world and everyone in it. But that was the past, before he learned better. Or, well. Before he had a standing, weekly appointment with Dinah.

"You look a little on edge today," she says when he stomps in that afternoon. "Bee in your bonnet?"

Rather than explain, Tim makes a frustrated noise, then collapses into his usual squashy armchair. He normally loves sinking into it, revels in the way it seems to hug and protect him, much like the comfortable one he'd claimed in Jason's office. Today, he feels like taking a knife to it and tearing it to shreds. Not that he _would_ of course, but. The thought is definitely there, on the edge of his mind. "What do you do when someone you really trusted turns out to be a completely different person than you thought they were?"

"Ah. Would I be correct in suspecting that the honeymoon period has finally ended for your crush on the mysterious 'Jason'?" She raises one delicate eyebrow and Tim _doesn't_ have anger issues, really he doesn't, but right now he kind of wants to punch her.

More than anything, that frightens him.

Swallowing down the temptation to lash out, he takes a deep breath—holds it—then lets it out again. "It's not… exactly that. I guess I had this picture of him built up in my mind and it was pretty jarring to realize that it might not be completely accurate to life."

"Honeymoon period of crush over, exactly," Dinah says with a nod, which just earns her a glare from Tim. "So. You're feeling pretty angry about that. Anything else?"

"Betrayed, mostly. I guess I feel like he portrayed one version of himself and while it's… really not all that incompatible with what I've learned, I just don't feel like I can trust him anymore." It would have been bad enough if Jason were reading all of Tim's notes— _all_ of them, each last embarrassing admission of weakness, guilt, inadequacy—but it's not just Tim. It's the pleas and confessions of the entire _student body_ , all of them, all the people who feel like they're drowning and overwhelmed and can't find their way out and that's—that's—

He has no idea how to handle that, what to think of it. No idea if it's a bad thing or a good thing or a no-thing. It's bad because it's a total violation of privacy, of trust. Because he never, _ever_ wanted Jason to know so much about him, how broken he is, down to his very core. And, horribly, he can't stand the thought that he's nothing special. Just another complainer that Jason took pity on.

Tim's had so much _pity_ in his life that he can't stand to be on the receiving end of any more.

"Sounds pretty serious. What does this mean for your senior project?" Dinah asks, wresting him out of the downward spiral of his thoughts.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, he's your advisor, isn't he? You're going to have to keep working with him."

"Actually, he's not." It had been a little weird at the time, but Jason had insisted he couldn't be Tim's advisor, that he wasn't anywhere near qualified. "My advisor is Professor Gordon in the CompSci department. Jason is— _was_ just…" Tim trails off, frowning. He hasn't really thought about it before, but his relationship with Jason is decidedly odd, particularly for a student and a professor. A professor whom he's never even taken a class with, technically.

"A friend?" Dinah gently suggests. "Which is maybe why this betrayal hits so close to home?"

"I suppose."

"What were you planning to do about this?"

"I hadn't really gotten as far as planning," he admits. "I guess… cut ties? If I can't trust him to be honest with me about something like this, can I really trust him to be honest about anything? Important things included?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you've dropped a friend because of a perceived hurt, would it?"

"It's not perceived! This was a real, honest-to-god dirty trick!" Tim snaps, the hurt flaring up once more at her wheedling. He knows what she's talking about and he doesn't like her implications. "And last time—that wasn't an overreaction either. You know it wasn't. What they did—" It had hurt, a lot. Losing a friend over something that should have been something trivial, but really, really wasn't.

"Just don't want you making any snap judgements and ending up burned in the process, little cousin," she says, leaning forward to squeeze his knee.

"I'm pretty sure it's against professional protocol to bring that up during a session. Conflict of interest," Tim grumbles.

"Hon, you're the only blood family I've got left. It's my prerogative to tease you at least a little every time I see you. Now get your butt onto this couch so I can cuddle you and tell you all about how he's a big meanie who never deserved you in the first place."

Tim makes a token protest, but wastes no time in joining her on the couch and snuggling into her side. It may be a far cry from professional detachment, but right now it's also exactly what he needs.

* * *

It's possible Dinah's right and Tim is projecting a lot of his past issues onto how he feels about Jason, but she also reminded him of one very important point—Jason isn't his advisor, isn't even his professor. If he decides to excise the man from his life, that's not only doable, it's completely acceptable.

Besides, it's not like he _needs_ Jason's stupidly solid, dependable, wonderful support. He managed fine in the past without him. Or, well. Mostly fine. Sometimes. When he could shake off the illness and the funk and remember that once upon a time, he was actually _excited_ about learning new things, advancing important research while exploring all the ideas that constantly feel like bursting out of his brain.

There's still two months left to his final year. Two months of essays and exams, late nights and way too early mornings. Not to mention his senior project, which is thankfully mostly done and only needs to go through one final round of testing and debugging. He's going to make it through all of it and this time, he's going to do it on his own, _without_ Jason's help.

Or, well. Maybe not his own, because Dinah had a point about that, too. Just like it's alright for her to reach out to him, it's also alright for him to reach out to her, sometimes.

Which would be how he ends up moving onto her couch for his last month of school, because if nothing else it means he'll at least get one regular, healthy meal each day. Mostly—Dinah _is_ related to him, after all, and sometimes just as likely to fall into her own hyperfocused obsessing.

At least between the two of them, they nearly make one full, competent person.

He blows his project out of the water, impressing all the people he wanted to impress and even a few whose standards he never thought he'd meet. At least one hands him a card and tells him they know of a few companies who'd be interested in ideas like his, to be sure to get in touch after he graduates.

Tim takes the card and nods dumbly, unsure of what else he can do.

It would probably feel a lot better if he didn't feel weirdly empty the whole time, having somehow finally, _finally_ burned through all his anger and frustration and come out feeling nothing more than numb and hurt.

Much as he hates to admit it to himself, there's someone else who should be here too.

* * *

He really only plans to drop off a copy of his final presentation—just as a not-so-subtle I-told-you-so, but when he walks into the building and yanks open the door of Jason's office, he's nearly clobbered in the head by a number of mops, brooms, and other cleaning paraphernalia. Because it is a broom closet, and, from the obvious dimensions inside, it has _always_ been a broom closet.

At first he thinks he must be mistaken—he tries the doors on either side and ends up startling a couple of very polite history profs. When he asks about Professor Todd, they nod easily enough, well aware of who he is. "Brilliant mind, that one. Knows everything there is to know about ancient cultures of the Fertile Crescent," says one. "Shame he has a bunch of screwy theories about what life was like back then. We can never _truly_ know after all, haha!"

"Great," Tim says, though he's slightly confused, having always thought that Jason was attached to the English department. "Do you know where I can find his office? I could have sworn it was in this hall, but I haven't been here for a few months and I seem to have misplaced it."

The professor shakes his head, looking more than a little confused. "Office? Adjunct professors don't get permanent offices, they all share one on the other side of the building. Big, noisy place over on the fifth floor."

Which doesn't sound right at all, but Tim thanks him for his time and lopes off to check it out.

Jason's not there either, but at this point he's hardly surprised. "Todd? He said he didn't need a place in the office, that he had other arrangements worked out. Not that it matters anymore, of course," a woman tells him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, though Tim's starting to have a sinking suspicion he already knows.

"He left. Gave his final lecture last week, turned in all his grades yesterday. Shame, he really is an expert in his field."

"And what field would that be?" Tim presses, because he's honestly quite curious.

"Nursing, maybe? I think? Like I said, he never came around here, so it's not like any of us really knew him."

He leaves the building more confused than ever, wondering if he should approach the administration and quickly brushing it off as impractical. Something tells him there's very little chance Professor Jason Todd has left behind any sort of forwarding address. Heck, Tim himself never had a phone number or email address for him, he always just swung by Jason's office whenever he wanted to ask him something. And if he was really never around the building, it seems unlikely he had a mailbox there either. Of course, why would he bother keeping a mailbox on the far side of campus when he's already got one in a very central location.

With more than a little trepidation, Tim treks across the quad and slips into the courtyard hidden between the engineering and English buildings. The… shrine, for lack of a better word, is almost exactly as he remembers it. Tidy if a little overgrown following the chaos of finals. Same plants, same shady nook, same stone bench. Somehow, he expected it to be gone along with Jason.

As it is, there are only a few small changes, all of them limited to the pedestal. Below the older message, there is now a second line—one that is somehow just as worn and weathered as the first.

_When you need help, all you have to do is ask. Render your need unto the flame, and I will hear your plea._

It's an odd addition, to say the least. No doubt the flame in question is the lamp, still burning bright and steady—more steady than Tim ever remembers it being in the past, if he's honest—but how does Jason intend to do his voyeur act on other people's lives if all their requests go up in flames? Or maybe it's just his way of keeping the spot mysterious, now that he's left the campus. After all, the one other change that catches his eye is the absence of the lockbox. The absence of even the box's alcove, as it happens, which is just as strange as the state of the newly added line.

Both changes he would just chalk up as inconsequential oddities, were it not for what he found when he went looking for Jason's office earlier. Taken all together, it indicates that, perhaps, Jason wasn't so far off from the truth when he claimed that the situation wasn't what Tim thought it was.

Swallowing, Tim takes pen and paper from his bag, and scribbles a hasty note.

_'We need to talk.'_

He doubts it will work—it _shouldn't_ , all things considered. But he walked into a broom closet earlier instead of an office, and no one he's met can rightly say what department the overly helpful adjunct professor belonged to. There seems to be a lot more going on here than Tim ever suspected, so with that in mind, he sets the note atop the lamp and watches as the flame consumes it.

He can't even find it in himself to feel surprise when the light breeze completely fails to pick up even one ember, the entire thing staying safe and self-contained. It is, after all, the polite thing to do.

"I wasn't sure you'd ever come back," an achingly familiar voice says from behind him.

Though his heart is in his throat and busy beating double-time, Tim paces himself, taking a deep breath before slowly turning. "That was quick. Kudos on your response time."

"I try to keep an ear out for the truly needy."

"I don't know if I actually qualify as that, anymore," Tim admits. He's finished school after all, and while he may choose to pursue a graduate degree, he doesn't think it will be any time soon.

"Who said you were the needy one here?" Slowly, acting once again like Tim is nothing more than a scared animal, Jason comes closer, carefully sitting on the bench.

"I don't get why someone like _you_ would need someone like me, but sure." Sighing, Tim sits down beside him. "What are you, anyway? Some kind of good-luck-on-tests spirit?"

Jason laughs, shaking his head. "Nothing near so simple. More of a… god of civilization? Civilization, advancement, innovation, creativity, writing, medicine—I've picked up a lot of roles over the millennia. All of them are me, in the end."

"Why… this? The shrine, the office, the subterfuge—why do any of it?"

"Gods aren't much of anything without worshippers, and they aren't much use if those worshippers can't contact them for help when they need it. Every time you google some random factoid on the internet, you're sending a prayer to me and sacrificing a few minutes of your time. My colleagues are holding out for goat entrails and dedicated priesthoods, but I've learned microtransactions are the way to go in the twenty-first century."

"Oh my god, you're the god of _wiki-binges_?" Tim gasps, because that's delightful and horrible and hilarious all at the same time. "Seriously?"

"Among other things. Last-minute cramming, brilliant eureka moments. Light and, by extension, photography." He nods to the camera hanging around Tim's neck, a near-constant companion ever since he finally got the department to allow him the long-desired minor.

"Oh." Tim isn't sure how to take that, or why his cheeks inexplicably feel warmer. "I didn't—I mean. I honestly never expected you to come."

"You needed help, so I came."

"Really? That's the only reason why?"

"Well, maybe not the _only_ reason," Jason admits, ducking his head and glancing away, almost bashful. "It's like I said—I really enjoyed working with you. It's rare I find a human who not only falls under so many of my aspects but can also keep up with me. I, uh. I may have grown more than a little fond of you while we worked together."

Tim bites his lip, trying to fight down a smile. Sure, his previous reason for being mad at him is pretty much moot—Jason wasn't collecting pleas to report flagging students to the administration, and it's understandable that he'd want to hide he's a literal _god_ in disguise—but he's not about to let him off that easily. "Is that why you let me catch you collecting the letters?"

"Oh, ah. That was. Well." Unbelievably, his cheeks go even pinker. "I apparently, uh. Don't register you anymore? I mean. I'm _supposed_ to put out an aura of 'look away' when I'm doing godly crap, but apparently my subconscious registers you as a part of me or something, which is ridiculous because we barely know each other and—"

"I don't set off your Spider Sense," Tim says, absolutely delighted by the prospect.

"Uh, I guess? Look, just because I inspire stuff doesn't mean I always read or understand it, and honestly I'm not that into superhero comics, so I don't know if that's entirely—"

"Shh." Shifting aside his bag, Tim reaches up and turns Jason's head so he's facing him. "It means you trust me and care about me. Would you say that's an accurate assessment?"

"Yeah," Jason says, voice half-cracking in the middle of the word. "Pretty accurate."

"And while I'm _still_ pretty peeved about the whole 'secret double life' thing, I _guess_ you had a pretty legitimate excuse for not telling me. So I suppose I'll forgive you— _this_ time."

"Oh, so gracious."

Tim gives him a sharp look, frowning. "Would you rather I _didn't_ forgive you? Because that's still a possibility, smart-ass."

"Nope, sorry, thank you for understanding." Jason gulps and, more than a little hesitantly, reaches up to cup his hands over Tim's. "So. 'This time.' That implies there could be a next time? And maybe a time after that?"

"Well, I mean. If that's something you're interested in. I kinda got the impression you were planning on leaving town."

"Babe, I'm a god. I can be wherever you want me to be."

"Good," Tim says as he leans in. "I was hoping it might be something like that."

**Author's Note:**

> It never comes up in the story, but Jason is a modern incarnation/aspect of [Nuska](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuska).
> 
> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), history fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart. Also, because I am an actual human being with opinions of my own, sometimes I post or reblog things that reflect those opinions. If you can't handle the idea of someone existing in the universe and possessing opinions which differ from your own, you probably should not click on that link.


End file.
